


Just Temporary Bliss

by blipintiime, cxptained



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Audio 011: Broken (Torchwood), Blood, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meant To Be, Post-Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxptained/pseuds/cxptained
Summary: “I had a fiancé.” He starts, and Ianto’s eyes lift to Owen’s face. “Her name was Katie, and she died."Surprise flickers across Ianto’s expression before understanding and almost apologetics as he casts his gaze down to the hands clasped within his lap.“I didn’t realise.”"You're not the only one with secrets." Owen says, his own gaze finally working its way up, only to realise that Ianto’s looked away himself. They're not good at this eye contact thing, are they? "Nobody asked, I didn't tell. It's easier that way, right?"----------Jack and Ianto are destined to be together, but what if Jack hadn't forgiven Ianto straight away for his betrayal after Lisa? What if it took some extra time? Owen Harper understands more than anyone how it feels to lose the woman you love to alien intervention. When Ianto's hurting the most, what if he was there to be the temporary glue to Ianto's broken pieces before things get back on track?
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Owen Harper/Ianto Jones
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! First off, just wanna say thanks for even clicking on this fic! Secondly, as always it's blipintiime who has provided anything Ianto you see in this fic. I literally can't write these without her, ahha. 
> 
> We really hope you stick with us for this, despite the possibly unconventional idea we're pretty sure you're going to love the direction this is going to take. So if you like some hardcore angst, hurt/comfort and all of that good stuff then strap in!

“You died, Ianto.” Owen had said very firmly when the Welshman denied medical aid from his team mate.

Ianto may have betrayed them, he may have almost gotten them all killed, but, dammit, Owen was a doctor before anything else.

And to top it off, he understands why Ianto did it.

He shouldn’t understand. He shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t have  _ empathy _ for the man who could have destroyed Torchwood Three, even more so destroyed the entire world. And yet, he does. He understands whole-heartedly and with everything he is, because if this was Katie in that conversion unit? If she had been in any condition to save?

Sod anyone who stood in his way. Sod the hospital. Sod the world.

If Katie could have lived then he’d have done it too. He loved her like Ianto had loved Lisa and love was a dangerous thing to threaten.

Owen descends the stairs into his med-bay. He’s just come from yelling at Jack through the locked door of his office. Ianto wasn’t the only one being chased for medical care. Their captain had died too; Owen had seen it with his very eyes. But, dammit, he was a doctor not a locksmith and if Jack didn’t want him coming in then no amount of banging on his office door was going to change that.

Eventually, he gives up.

Ianto’s sitting on his table as he requested, looking younger than Owen had ever cared to notice in the abyss of the bay, and there’s a sense of relief that floods through the doctor to see him sit there. He’s placed bodies in the morgue already this evening. He’s washed their blood from his hands. He’s glad to see a patient he can treat that’s alive, if nothing else.

“How do you feel?” Owen asks as he rounds the metal table and comes to a halt in front of Ianto, setting a tray full of equipment down beside the man. He tries to search out Ianto’s gaze, even if it doesn’t want to be given. “Shaky? Headache?” What questions you’re supposed to ask when someone’s died and come back to life fully capable of walking and talking like nothing had even happened, he’s not entirely sure.

He’ll start with the basics.

“No. Wasn’t out that long. Jack res—” Ianto’s voice stops as abruptly as it began. Owen watches as the Welshman’s face turns in a way that makes him look nauseous. Guilt. He recognises it anywhere. “Resuscitated me, or whatever, pretty quick. No lasting effects. I’m fine.” Ianto finishes.

He’s lying. Perhaps not about his physical wellness, but emotionally? This man with a girlfriend dead twice-over, maybe three? A boss who Owen is  _ pretty sure _ he’d slept with who now hated him? Ianto’s life was spiralling out of control.

This man could not be fine.

“Nobody who dies and comes back to life is immediately fine, Ianto.” Owen says carefully, placing his stethoscope, once slung casually around his neck, into his ears. He doesn’t push too much. For once in his life, he isn’t looking for a fight with the other man. No matter how often the two come to blows, he isn’t attempting to start something tonight. Believe it or not, Owen Harper actually cares.

He’s gentle as he drags Ianto’s shirt down so he can place the metal surface of the stethoscope against his bare chest. It’s all routine. He just wants to check that, as fine Ianto says he is, no lasting damage has been done by death – as brief as it were.

Ianto’s blood coated hands clutch at the metal slab’s edge with a white-knuckled grip.

“Just want to get home.” He says in a voice quieter than before.

“You can go home soon.” Owen assures as he pulls his equipment away.

His gaze turns now, settling on the crimson stained fingers that stand out stark against the silver metal of his table. Had nobody, in their bid to clean up the Hub, even given Ianto anything to clean himself up with? Something heavy settles within his chest and he steps backwards, towards the sink in the corner of his med-bay. He twists on the old and clunky taps, running a cloth under warm water and squeezing out the excess before returning to Ianto’s side.

“Here.” Owen says, handing it over. “Clean up your hands.”

Ianto takes the damp cloth without a word, seemingly unable to look at his hands as he uses it to clean the blood from them. His guard is so far up, as he sits stoic and unmoving, that Owen can practically feel spikes keeping him at a distance. The medic steps to the side, unwrapping the blood pressure cuff in preparation for his next test. That is, until Gwen’s voice rings out from their workstations

“Oh god, Tosh?” She echoes distantly. It catches Owen’s attention, his head lifting towards the sound. “How do you get blood out of the grout?”

Just as quickly as Owen’s attention had been brought  _ up  _ he flicks it down again, landing on Ianto.

“Not light-headed or anything, are you?” He questions quickly, trying to divert from the commotion upstairs. Ianto doesn’t even hear the question as he looks down at his blood covered hands to match the blood covered Hub upstairs. Suddenly he bolts to the sink and empties what little there is within his stomach.

The last thing Owen had expected was to be right. The question was asked as a distraction and little else.

“Sorry—” Ianto’s apology is ragged and lacking breath support as his chest heaves with the strain of being sick, his body having retched until there was no possibility of anything left.

Warm water runs pink as he washes the rest of the blood from his hands before dragging them down his face.

“Sorry—” He says again.

“It’s alright.” Owen says carefully as he moves his table to Ianto’s body. The next movement is calculated completely before he presses his hand into the man’s shoulder. “Take your time. Just breathe.” He encourages, giving him a squeeze beneath his hand.

The hand on his shoulder must have been unexpected because Ianto flinches, his muscles somehow even more tense than they’d already been. It doesn’t shrug Owen’s hand off though, and he doesn’t think Ianto was attempting to.

Owen imagines he isn’t the most likely person to be so kind at this moment. The two of them had already come to blows a few times, and if anyone were to hate the youngest member of the team… Well, no one would exactly be surprised if it were Owen to demand Ianto’s head on a platter, or his termination and inevitable retconning of the last five years of his life away. And yet, Owen’s voice is soft; light in a way that’s unexpected even to himself.

“That wasn’t—” Ianto takes a shaking breathing. “No, not going to pass out on you.”

"Good. I would rather you  _ didn't _ if we can help it. I look strong but I’m not sure I can lift you back onto a table." Owen’s teasing. He's joking. He's acting as though the man in front of him wasn't guilty of anything. After a moment, he lets go. "When you're ready just come back to the table, alright?" Owen requests.

Ianto simply nods as the doctor steps away, a few deep and shaking breaths filling his lungs before he turns around. He makes his way back to the table, stepping up easily.

“Sorry, I’m—” He doesn’t know what else to say. “Sorry.”

“You’ve said that already.” Owen informs as he takes hold of Ianto’s wrist, rolling his sleeve up far enough that he’s able to wrap the pressure cuff around his arm. “Four times.” He adds, eyes flicking up to meet Ianto’s with a smile that comes far too easy for the gravity of the situation.

Owen can see the way Ianto practically fights his own instinct to roll his eyes for the amount of times  _ ‘sorry’  _ has left his lips.

Owen’s good at this, the whole doctor’s bedside manner thing. Anyone that knows him would think that it’s his worst skill when it comes to his job. They’re wrong. It’s his best. It’s always been there, but it was Katie that taught him how to be kind  _ outside  _ of his job too. The remains of that trait are now far and few between.

With her gone, he’d retreated inside his cold and hard shell once more. He became the man they know today.

Katie… the only reason he can look at Ianto and understand why he’d almost killed them all.

Owen takes a breath.

“I had a fiancé.” He starts, and Ianto’s eyes lift to Owen’s face. There’s a nervousness that wavers Owen’s tone and he has to avert his gaze to his work, he can’t make eye contact while talking about this. He’s not breathed a word of her since her death. Jack is the only person remaining in his life that even knows of her existence. “Her name was Katie, and she died. When she died I threw up.” He says. “There was blood, and guts, and more people dead than just her. I’m a doctor, I saw that crap all day, but seeing it on her? That’s different… so really, you don’t have to feel bad for puking in my sink. Tosh did that the first day I showed her a dead alien.”

Surprise flickers across Ianto’s expression before understanding and almost apologetics as he casts his gaze down to the hands clasped within his lap.

“I didn’t realise.”

"You're not the only one with secrets." Owen says, his own gaze finally working its way up, only to realise that Ianto’s looked away himself. They're not good at this eye contact thing, are they? "Nobody asked, I didn't tell. It's easier that way, right?"

“Does it get—” A hand gestures vaguely but Ianto seems like he feels stupid for even asking. “How long does that rats in your stomach, nauseating feeling last?”

He busies himself taking Ianto’s blood pressure for a moment, thinking about the answer to that question.

“A while.” Owen answers honestly while he works. “Thinking about her death brings it back. I think it always will, but you learn not to think about  _ that _ part when you think about  _ them _ . Hard not to, of course. You can never forget what Lisa went through. I’ll never forget how Katie had an alien parasite in her brain. It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t deserve to die, but they did and, in the end, they had to. You can’t watch them deteriorate forever. And you can’t let them become a danger to everyone else.”

He pauses, unwrapping Ianto’s arm and finally looking back up. The more Ianto learns about Katie, the more he seems to relax around the doctor. It isn’t as though his words can make anything hurt less, but if Owen can at least make it feel possible to breathe, knowing he’s at least  _ somewhat  _ understood, then it makes unravelling his deepest secrets worth it. Even if it is the first time the pair have even held a semblance of a proper conversation since Ianto started.

“But it doesn’t make it fair.” Owen says, letting a breath of air out of his nose that could almost resemble a laugh. He turns away from the Welshman in order to put the equipment away. “At this point we could start a club for sad losers who’ve had their partners killed by Jack Harkness. It’s a depressing club, but still.”

Ianto’s head lifts, and Owen can feel a wide-eyed gaze burning a hole into the back of his head.

“Torchwood was—  _ Jack _ was involved with Katie’s death?” Ianto asks, teeth clenching. There is perhaps an ulterior motive for Ianto having asked. The firing squad upon Lisa was one of the most brutal things Owen has taken part in during his time and he’s surprised that Ianto can even face the team again, knowing they’d been the ones to kill her.

But he can’t leave Torchwood, can he? It’s his life. Nobody leaves Torchwood with their original life in check.

“And you stayed?”

"I joined." The words feel like poison on the medic’s tongue - only for a second and then it's gone.

Owen turns around, leaning back on the surface of his desk as he does. Well, enough of her story has met the air tonight, he may as well tell him the whole thing. If Katie’s tale was being hidden away for the perfect moment for it to slot into place then Owen doesn’t think it could get more fitting than tonight

"I met Katie when I was a  _ junior houseman, _ " He starts, placing an emphasis on the name to make it sound posher than it was. "Fell in love with her, proposed to her even after I said I’d never get married. That's how good she was." Owen smiles. He can't help but smile. It soon falters. "And then she got sick. They said it was a brain tumour. She started getting forgetful, started needing help with things, you know? I didn't care. I loved that woman. I was going to marry her no matter what."

The doctor swallows hard, glancing down for a second. He wishes he had something in his hands just to fiddle with. The similarity between the two men’s stories of love and loss is scary. All Ianto does is sit there, ever perfect posture faltering as he allows his shoulders to slump and listen intently. Owen is entrusting Ianto with this information because he needs and deserves to hear it, he doesn’t think that’s lost on the Welshman.

"She had surgery so I took her. Waited outside that door for hours. And then a man in a stupid military trench coat turned up and burst into her operating theatre. I followed and she was dead. Laying on the table with her... Brain... Exposed... This alien just sticking out of it. He said he knew, he said he'd already been in there, said he'd tried to stop it or whatever it was but... She was dead. And all the doctors too. It was a massacre. He knew and he didn't stop it from killing her. And then he drugged me."

Not that he could blame that on being the reason why he joined.

"Anyway, he turned up at her funeral a week or so later. I... Well, I punched him. I was adamant he could have saved her. That she was  _ savable _ . And she wasn't." Owen shakes his head. "He told me, and I remember, 'life doesn't end with her'. It feels like it does, Ianto. God, it feels like it does and I have  _ not _ been the same since she died. But Jack offered me a purpose if I joined torchwood. So, I did. And here I am."

“Lisa was too good for me.” Ianto finally speaks, a curt laugh underlying his words. “She was gorgeous and brilliant and trendy. Still have  _ no  _ idea how I talked her ‘round into going out with me.” He says.

"Neither do I when you use words like trendy." Owen riffs. Well, he can't always be expected to be kind and caring and understanding. That's not exactly him and he  _ does _ have a reputation to uphold as the resident asshole underneath Cardiff.

“I told her not to come in that day. She wasn’t feeling well, and the ghost shifts were becoming uncontrollable, figured she wouldn’t be any help ill. But, she insisted on it. Shouldn’t have let her come in.”

Owen’s heart sinks, knowing it must kill the other man to have been so close to still having her with him today.

“I really thought I could  _ do  _ something to save her.” Ianto says and his head lifts, eyes finding the ceiling as he sighs. “I’m fine, Owen.”

A sigh leaves Owen too. Ianto seems in fine (enough) physical condition. Sure, he’s only a pulse and a blood pressure taken but, god, the man died and is walking around like he got nothing but a papercut. Owen can pretty much conclude that Ianto wasn’t about to be pronounced dead in his bed tomorrow morning.

“I’m sure you are.” He responds. “And the others will come around, even Jack. You can make it up to us by buying breakfast in the morning. I like pan au chocolats. You know? The ones with the tiny chocolate chips in.” He takes pause and smiles at the other. An actual smile.

This time, Ianto doesn’t bother hiding the roll of his eyes as he climbs down from the table but there’s no malice to it.

“You tried to end the world, Ianto. But you didn’t actually manage it. They can’t be mad at you forever.” He says shrugging off his lab coat.

“I  _ wasn’t  _ trying to—” Ianto cuts himself off and shakes his head. Owen raises an eyebrow at him; they don’t  _ actually believe _ his intent had been to end the world.

“Grab your stuff. I’m driving you home.”

Protests bubble at the offer of a ride. He turns to look at Owen and quietens for a moment before simply nodding his head and making his way up the med-bay stairs. He hesitates before taking a step into the Hub’s main area.

Owen makes for the sink first, rinsing it down once before he washes his hands once again and wipes down the table Ianto has vacated. He follows Ianto up the stairs only a minute later, coming to a halt directly behind him when the man had stopped.

The smell of bleach tingles within their nostrils and Owen can see the way Ianto’s analyzing the scattered pizza boxes as a task to clear just by looking at the back of his head. Then he changes his view and Owen follows his gaze to Jack’s office. The door is closed. It’s almost unheard of for Jack Harkness. Suddenly, Owen can practically feel the anger, guilt and sadness radiating off Ianto all at once.

“That won’t help.” He urges gently, making himself known, “And you’re making a traffic jam.” He adds before he slips around Ianto’s body.

Owen heads for his own desk. He isn’t sure where the girls have gone but their belongings remain by their workstations. He guesses they’re perhaps in the lower levels, having moved their cleaning party to the lower levels. Reaching for his jacket, he slips it on, doing it up against what he knows will be a chilly night’s air before grabbing his rucksack.

“Ready?” Owen calls, pulling his car keys from the front pocket and slinging the bag over his shoulder. He moves for the cog door, letting it roll open.

Owen’s voice seems to snap Ianto out of his reverie, head turning to follow the man as he moves. He casts one last glance to where he knows Jack will be sitting at his desk before pushing himself towards the cog door with a nod.

“Yeah.” Ianto collects himself with a clear of his throat, following him towards the Hub’s entrance. “Just need to get my keys from the tourism office. I’ll, erm, meet you in the garage.”

Owen nods and makes his way through a secondary door to the underground level where the team park up for the day of work. Except for the whole  _ underground base  _ part, Owen finds it a scarily normal part of their office.

He slips into his sports car. It’s a  _ nice  _ car, and one he certainly couldn’t have afforded without Torchwood’s pay. He isn’t sure if a nice car is enough to offset the emotional cost of a dead girlfriend, but still. After a little too long, Owen realises that Ianto’s taking a little too long to simply pick up a set of keys. Has the man done a runner?

There isn’t much to worry about. If Ianto had then Owen would have simply gone to find him. He wasn’t about to let him wander the streets of Cardiff, much less drive himself home. While the Welshman is physically fine, Owen certainly won’t rule out shock. The last thing he wants is a call out because Ianto crashed his car into some poor unsuspecting elderly woman.

Ianto finally rounds the corner and Owen spots him in his mirror. He thinks about putting the music on, wonders if that might help. He doesn’t want to overwhelm the man though so he leaves the call in his court, a case of CD’s on Ianto’s seat. Finally, he climbs into the car, taking the CD’s in hand.

“Want dinner or anything picking up on the way?” Owen asks as he settles himself in. The other man only looking up to acknowledge the offering of food.

“No,” He says, voice low and a bit empty to boot. Then again, it’s a stark reminder of how the man must feel. Numb. Empty. Owen hates how relatable it feels. “Don’t think I could eat.”

"That's fair, mate." Owen says. It's the answer he expected after all and he pulls out of the underground garage. “If you're gonna chuck up again though, tell me to pullover. It's a nice car and it doesn't need decorating with chunks of vomit." he says firmly. The doctor's facade is coming loose, but while his jabs and his snipes return, the cold edge that so often laces Owen’s voice hasn't yet made a comeback.

Ianto doesn’t react but he does look down at the music choices. A long and probably awkward silence would be on the cards if he didn’t. He’s quick to pick the hardest of the rock bands he recognises– the two men probably having the most in common when it comes to music than much else. Well, except tragic stories about Jack Harkness and their girlfriends. Ianto ensures they’ll hear the songs with the deepest bass and angriest lyrics during the drive and Owen can’t even blame him.

When they arrive outside of Ianto’s flat there is a moment where neither man makes a move. Ianto simply stares up at the door. Owen turns to watch him and something within him lurches. He recognises that face. The knowledge that there is nothing for you behind it anymore. Anything left would be simply memories of a life that is now dead. Owen’s seen that look on himself.

Ianto takes a shaking breath, turning his head, looking at the other. They simply study each other for a moment.

“Thank you.” The younger man says. For not shooting him like he had probably wanted to? For telling him about Katie? For being kind? Owen isn’t sure but the gratitude shocks him.

It’s true that, at the beginning of this night, Owen wanted to kill him. He was for throwing him out into the gutter; for wiping him clean of any memory that man had once held of Torchwood Three and the people in it.

_ ‘A little loyalty, perhaps?”  _ Owen had spat angrily, venom dripping from each and every word.

There was just one little line that changed it all.

_ ‘I love her.’ _

And all too suddenly it came rushing back. Owen was thrust into memories of Katie that he pushed deep down, that he didn’t let resurface for fear of it breaking him even more than it ever had. The memories of the woman he loved who deteriorated before his very eyes; destroyed by the creatures he now fights.

_‘Haven’t you ever loved anyone before?”_

The words are directed at Jack and he has no idea if they ring true for their captain – nobody knows a thing about that bloody man – but it hits far too hard for Owen Harper.

He loved a woman. She was kind. She was gentle. She was open. She understood everyone and everything. She was all Owen wished he could have been himself. She was what Owen was becoming before the end.

“You’re welcome.” He says, voice low, graveled, almost broken. His jaw wavers and he doesn’t know if it’s tears or anxiety that creeps up on him because it all feels the same. “It’s what Katie would have done.”

A beat of silence follows as Ianto simply watches Owen with a certain respect he’d gained in the last hour or so.

“Seems like she was too good for you, too.” Ianto responds and there is no malice or teasing within his tone. Owen recalls what Ianto had said about Lisa; about the woman he’d loved so dearly. In turn he recognises what Ianto says as a compliment of such a high degree to a woman he’d never met.

“Yeah...” Owen breathes. “She was.”

And then Ianto turns to leave. His face slackening into an expression of nothingness. Once he’s turned away from the medic and climbing from his car, he doesn’t look back.

That night is filled with tears they had pushed down. Unbeknownst to each other very similar evening ensues for both men.

Ianto sits with his knees drawn to his chest, the hottest of showers cascading over his skin. He cries until there is nothing left in him.

Owen stands, the back of his hand splattered by falling water that should have caught his face instead. He cries, long and loud, letting the spray of the water mask his sobs.

And then there is darkness. They collapse into their beds and allow unconsciousness to take them. Owen sleeps through. This isn’t his first rodeo. He’s had years of practice mourning his beloved. Ianto sleeps until nightmares yank him from his sleep and send him stumbling down the road.

He’s out of milk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for the interest this idea is gaining, we're super excited to bring you more!! As always, blipintiime provides all the Ianto goodness, and I (cxptained) bring you Owen!

They were fucking  _ cannibals _ .

He takes a breath and checks the clock. Late, but not too late. Part of him wishes it was, in fact, later after the day he’s had. The things they saw… They’re the memories that play on loop every time Owen gets close to packing up his work for the day. So, he keeps working.

“You gonna be alright?” Owen asks from where he sits in the driver’s seat of his car. His eyes are trained on her face but hers stare down into the darkness of her lap. The engine’s silent, the light’s off so as not to draw neighbourly attention. They’ve already been sitting here for twenty minutes in silence. Surprisingly, it was Owen who broke it.

“Yeah.” Gwen says though it’s not certain. Owen can’t blame her. She blinks a few times, frowning at her own hands before she glances to his face and tries to pass off a reassuring smile. It doesn’t work. She stares straight ahead instead, watching a rodent root around in the bins.

Owen’s already spent most of his evening patching up Gwen properly. He got her back to the Hub and she’d practically torn the original dressing in the scuffles that took place. So, he’d taken his time, the two of them in an understanding silence as he sterilised her wounds. She gripped at his arm as the alcohol mixture stings with white hot vengeance and releases once it’s over. Owen re-wrapped them carefully, tightening them off until he’s sure they won’t come loose. She’d cried. He’d held her.

“You gonna tell Rhys?” He asks, his eyes never leaving her features. She laughs.

“Tell him what?” Gwen scoffs, shaking her head. “That I was shot by a kid with a gun… barricading himself into his own home because he thought he was going to be eaten? That  _ I  _ was almost eaten?” Something leaves her mouth and Owen can’t tell if it was a sob or a laugh.

She wipes roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand. A sob then. Owen doesn’t know how to respond.

“I... —” He’s saved. Cut off by a sharp inhale and the door opening.

“I should go.” Gwen says and Owen nods. “Thanks for the lift. And everything else.”

“Welcome.” Owen says and the door shuts. He watches her make the short journey from his car to her front door. She runs. Owen wonders if they’ll ever walk unafraid in the dark again.

The way his thoughts creep up on him is near instant once he’s alone. The images catch him off guard and for a moment all he sees is the gun pointed at his head, Tosh just out of sight on the floor. He can hear her screaming again.

Owen slams the stereo in his car. It blasts Guns and Roses at an incredible volume and Owen drives hard and fast. Every passing shadow is another one of them, another monster of a human being. Aliens he can deal with. Creatures from distant galaxies with customs and trends that don’t match their own… it’s not  _ better  _ when they want to murder the human race but it’s a damn sight easier to handle.

His music is turning the heads of the drivers in lanes beside him as he rolls to a stop at a red light. It still doesn’t do anything to block the memories. By the end of his drive, Owen doesn’t even remember how he got home.

He grabs his stuff and heads inside; the lift feels too cramped and crowded but the stairs give him an inordinate feeling of being chased. Eventually he picks the lesser of two evils – the lift – and wills it to hurry up. When the doors open he releases the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and takes himself straight to his bedroom.

Dialling Tosh’s number isn’t voluntary, but he doesn’t stop himself. He simply puts it on speaker and throws it onto the bed as he tugs a blood covered shirt over his head.

Tosh is crying when she answers.

“Hello?” She says, trying to pull herself together. Owen doesn’t answer immediately; his disgusting shirt is balled within his fists and he stares at the phone. “Hello?” She asks again.

“Hey.” Owen answers quickly, jolting himself back to life. “Sorry, hey… how you doing Tosh?”

She sniffs.

“I’m fine.” Tosh lies. And she’s not very good at it when she’s upset either. Owen throws his shirt in the bin. He’ll never wear it again.

“You sure?” Owen asks and he suddenly realises why he called her. He’s playing doctor. It’s an act, a mask, but so different from his usual façade of uncaring. And it’s a mask that’s a near carbon copy of his true personality with a few things emphasised for perfection. He’s stronger as a doctor than he is as anything else. He always has been.

Tosh doesn’t answer and Owen turns, shirtless and sits on the edge of the bed. He cradles the phone in two hands.

“Tosh?” He says gently after thirty seconds pass of silence.

“I can’t stop seeing it…” She whispers and Owen’s heart breaks for her. He swallows hard and closes his eyes.

“I know.” He murmurs.

“He was so close… his hands on my neck… I can feel it—” Tosh chokes on her own words and though the line may be tinny, Owen can’t avoid the terror in her tone. They’ve seen some shit in their time but this had to be some of the worst.

Conversation continues for a long time, and soon Owen has no clue how much time has passed. He moves as he talks, taking off his jeans and deciding that they could possibly be salvaged with a good wash. He pulls a clean white shirt over his head and a pair of sweatpants that he’s slept in all week.

“Tosh?” Owen says gently from where he’s now found himself sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed.

Nothing more comes from the phone than the sound of gentle breathing. He smiles softly. At least perhaps he helped one person tonight.

“Night, Tosh.” He whispers before hanging up.

Silence comes to pass once again. Owen should go to sleep himself. It’s late. He’s the only member except Jack who didn’t sustain some sort of wound so he knows he doesn’t have an excuse not to come in tomorrow morning but yet he can’t bring himself to lay down.

His mind demands work, something he can do to push away the thoughts for just a little bit longer.

Owen texts Jack.

**[text: Jack Harkness] Just had Tosh on the phone. Keep an eye on her tonight.**

Owen calls Ianto.

He unlocks his phone and opens Ianto’s contact. There’s a sudden guilt that strangles him only momentarily that aside from coffee orders and work requests, Owen has never so much as  _ texted  _ Ianto Jones, let alone rang him. He has to push it down as he hears the lines connect.

“Ianto, mate.” Owen greets. “Just thought I’d check in on you. Needed to make sure you’ve cleaned out those wounds.”

There’s a pause before Ianto responds.

“Owen?” He says, his voice low and slurred. The medic can hear the way he struggles to contain his breathing. “What dy’a—oh right, wounds—no, I haven’t erm… m’fine, it’s all fine.”

Tosh isn’t fine. Owen had spent far longer on the phone with her just now than he had expected. She hadn’t been fine in the slightest. The same images that bombard Owen’s subconscious ripped into their resident genius too. She wasn’t fine.

Gwen isn’t fine. She’d kept a brave face, she’d pushed it all down until the two of them were alone and then she’d cried. Owen had been able to little else than simply hold her. It was uncomfortable, but he did it. He’d been needed. She wasn’t fine.

Jack… well, Jack was the closest to being fine out of them all. But even for their captain, who claims to have seen some of the worst things in his time, had a harrowed look behind his eyes. He wasn’t fine either.

Owen, most certainly, isn’t fucking fine.

So, when Ianto Jones answers the phone and claims to be  _ fine _ ? Owen isn’t exactly compelled to believe him. He tries to ignore the sounds of distress crackling down the line.

“Ianto, you need to clean yourself up.” He insists before his brows crease and his bottom lip gets caught between his teeth. He has to check. “Are you drunk?” Owen asks. There is a slur to Ianto’s tone. He recognises it easily from himself. From his mother.

There’s a silence once again and Owen sighs, fingers dragging through the short strands of his own hair.

“Seems so, yep—”

Owen can’t ignore the edge of crying in Ianto’s voice.

“Ianto, it’s…” He pauses, swallows. It’s going to take a lot for him to come across as kind as he should. “It’s okay not to be okay.” He insists.

Perhaps he should call someone else for him; someone  _ better  _ at this than he is. Tosh crying is one thing, Gwen is another. But Ianto? He doesn’t know how to help him. But who on earth would he get? Ianto doesn’t exactly have a pool of friends to choose from, does he?

Poor bastard.

Well, then again, none of them do really. Gwen being the outlier who had the luxury of cultivating a social circle before Torchwood sucked her in.

“Dunno how much… erm… just needed to—” Ianto trails off and his voice muffles as bit as though he’s no longer talking into the speaker. “Doesn’t matter.” He chokes and his voice comes back clearer. “Clean wounds. Got it.”

He could hang up now. What’s stopping him? He did his job and while it hasn’t exactly provided a long distraction from his own internal thoughts, technically this conversation seems like it’s over. But there’s something that probes at the medic. Something that feels innately  _ wrong  _ about hanging up right now.

Owen leans forward on his bed, catching his chin with his free hand and his elbow propped up on his knee.

“Ianto.” Owen’s said his name so many times in the past few minutes. “Talk to me.” He requests with a breath. If he listened to Tosh, he can listen to Ianto. He  _ wants  _ to listen to Ianto. “You don’t seem right, and I mean less right than you have recently and believe me that’s saying something mate, so what’s going on?”

He pauses and something strikes his chest; this  **inkling** taking over him that drives his next question.

“What have you… done?”

Ianto doesn’t answer for moments that seem all too long. Owen holds his breath involuntarily while the Welshman’s shakes audibly with the tears he’s been holding back.

“—‘ve got these pills.” Ianto’s sobs break through his confession. His voice is as broken as the day Lisa had been taken from him. Owen hates how he recognises it. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Owen’s on his feet before he can even recognise that he’s moved. Pills. Alcohol. The shittest few weeks of his life? Owen doesn’t need to ask; he already knows. God, he’s  _ been there  _ himself after Katie. Jack had stopped him from doing anything he would regret, but that’s a whole other story.

“Ianto, don’t move. Don’t take anything. Just  _ don’t _ .” Owen says, already pulling a jacket over his pyjama like outfit. Shoving the phone between his neck and ear, he stumbles as he tries to put his shoes on while standing up, his shoulder hitting the doorframe. He hisses loudly but carries on, swiping his keys once more and bolts from the flat.

“I’ll be ten minutes, most. Just  _ hang on _ .” And if it’s panic that enters tone it is not misplaced.

“You don’t—” Ianto tries to push back but Owen hears how quickly he gives up and he can’t decide if that’s good or bad. The phone drops on Ianto’s end, Owen hears it hit the ground, and, for a second, he’s terrified the man has collapsed. But there’s a loud sob that echoes once again and Owen feels a small sense of relief when he hears it.

Ianto’s not dead yet.

The drive is stupidly reckless. It’s late, there aren’t many cars about but there are enough that driving at this speed is dangerous. He doesn’t care. A speed camera flashes him on the way; he’ll get Tosh to remove his fine from their system in the morning. Official Torchwood Business he’ll call it.

Well, it’s not a lie.

When Owen parks it’s pretty much abandonment. His car is technically in three parking spaces at once, and the back end isn’t in properly but it’s really the least of his worries.

Ianto’s front door is open and that’s weird enough, but at least Owen doesn’t have to bash it down to get in. He sprints inside.

“Ianto?!” Owen calls out, shutting the door behind him before he makes it to the main area of the flat.

For a moment it all looks normal, there’s not a speck out of place in Ianto’s flat and he doesn’t know what else he expects. It’s Ianto. The man probably irons his tea towels. But something looks deathly out of place. A trail of white pills is scattered from the bathroom door and Owen lurches towards it.

In less than second his head is filled with images he knows he’ll never unsee. Right in front of him, now, is Ianto Jones. He’s on the floor, his knees pulled tight against his chest.

And god, he looks young.

But that’s not what stabs at his heart the most. It’s how eerily similar he looks to that of the man he’d seen, bound and gagged by cannibals only hours ago. The shirt is still the same. Bloodied and torn, dirtied and wrecked. His eyes hold the same fear that he had seen in them that evening when a meat cleaver was held to his throat.

Owen had been powerless to do anything to save him then, he’d be damned if he lost him now.

He drops to his knees in front of Ianto.

“How many did you take?” Owen asks urgently, and there’s unbridled concern in those dark eyes. Even as a doctor that so rarely comes through into his expression. As a doctor you can’t show your concern so that your patient feels at ease. As  _ himself  _ he doesn’t show concern in case he looks weak.

But he can’t help it because his heart pounds against his chest and doctors don't have anxiety attacks when their patients are dying but their patients aren’t their friends. They’re not their co-workers. They’re not people they spend every waking moment with - good or bad. They are not people you can’t figure out if you like them as more than a friend since opening up to them about your dead girlfriend—oh fuck.

Ianto doesn’t provide any reaction to Owen’s presence. He didn’t even flinch when the medic came crashing down into his eye level. His gaze is fixated on the wall over Owen’s shoulder, clouded so obviously by tears and alcohol – a half empty whiskey bottle is tight in his grip. For a moment, Owen fears he’s too late.

But then, Owen watches his face twist into a bitter smile and  _ finally  _ the man meets his eye.

“One.” Ianto laughs darkly at his own failure.

The breath released by the doctor is audible and his head drops. One. Okay. That’s fine. That’s better. Ianto’s still quite clearly drunk though, and certainly not in a safe mental space. But one… it’s not deathly.

Owen sinks back into his haunches a little more and the anxiety that built up but he refused until he knew he wouldn’t have to be a doctor anymore and has room to breathe now. He can feel it in his lungs, seeping out from his heart.

“I took  _ one _ .” Ianto says, rolling his eyes at himself. Owen swallows hard. “I haven’t even got the guts to kill myself.” He says, tearing his gaze away as though it hurts him to look at a friendly face for too long. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than the cybermen—.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re a coward.” Owen says, and he means it in the most  _ loving  _ of ways. A curt breath falls through Ianto’s nose, a laugh, if anything. Owen tries to offer a smile but it shakes a little too much. He was worried, terrified even, of losing a teammate. Yeah, they might not always get on outwardly but god, Owen’s pretty sure he’s lost too much in life to be okay with losing Ianto like that. Not to mention is spur of the moment revelation that he certainly won’t let himself deal with immediately.

“Not that you  _ are  _ a coward. You… don’t have to be brave to kill yourself. Being brave is—.” Owen stops himself. He’s only going to offend with his brazen attitude. He’s too good at that. Ianto puts down the whiskey bottle, head shaking as he drags now empty hands down his face. Owen sighs. “Look, let’s get you off the floor, yeah? You can talk about if you want but… somewhere nicer than next to your bog, mate.”

“They were  _ people. _ ” Ianto says as he attempts to get to his feet. Owen moves when the Welshman does. He’s quicker and he’s standing straight long before Ianto gets lanky legs awkwardly underneath him. “You weren’t there.”

Ianto’s lips part as he takes a breath, stumbling as he finally gets his feet beneath him. A hand reaches out to grasp Owen’s shoulder for support. The medic’s own hand goes out to steady the other man at the waist for a moment. He nudges the bottle out of the way with his foot so it can’t be kicked. With the pills already spread like marbles across the floor, he didn’t want another mess to be added.

“I saw the wreckage.” Owen says, “I know that’s not the same.” He adds.

He’s seen parts of the fall of Canary Wharf and perhaps, at the time, he’d been too jaded by his own reality. He hadn’t fully taken in what he was seeing. But even then, he knew he’d been standing in the footholds of something bigger than anyone could have expected.

“In that basement, with the—the  _ people. _ ” Ianto lets out another bitter and short laugh as they make the move from bathroom to bedroom. “Or what they’d left of them.”

It’s then that Owen realises that Ianto isn’t talking about London at all. Ianto’s talking about what happened  _ today.  _ Owen hates how difficult it was to know the difference.

“Oh.” The doctor swallows hard.

This is awkward. This is very awkward. For a moment he focuses on leading Ianto out of the bathroom because it gives him the opportunity to avert his eyes. Owen’s never been great at eye contact when he’s nervous.

Finally, they arrive at the bedroom and Owen can’t stay silent forever, not when he already promised Ianto they could talk.

“Tosh… Tosh told me some of it. What they did it—it wasn’t right. They were bloody disgusting.” Owen insists, only able to meet Ianto’s eye once again when he curses. He directs Ianto to the edge of the mattress. “Sit for me?” He asks gently?

“They were going to  _ eat  _ me.” Ianto laughs again and frankly it’s a little unnerving. It’s short, dark and bitter every time. But at least he drops, rather ungracefully, onto the side of the bed. His hands steady himself as much as they can with a grip on either side of his body at the mattress’ edge.

He’s back to avoiding Owen’s eyeline but that’s okay. The doctor in the Londoner rises in him again and he busies himself, observing Ianto’s focus and his pupils. He’s just  _ checking  _ that he isn’t lying about only having taken one pill.

“Should have just let them.” Ianto’s voice drops in pitch. “Would have made a better hamburger than an agent.”

“I mean, you’d be a bit chewy and they could probably taste the sarcasm in your veins.” Owen says, shrugging. He doesn’t know how else to respond to a conversation like that so he resorts to his usual tactic. Banter. For most part, Ianto ignores it and simply shakes his head.

“Couldn’t even give Tosh enough to get away— _ Tosh.”  _ Ianto’s voice suddenly panics and concern lines his face with this innocence that breaks Owen’s heart for reasons he doesn’t understand. “She alright? Should be with her not me.”

Owen’s hands come down onto Ianto’s shoulders with a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s fine. Well, not fine. Christ, none of us are bloody  _ fine _ .” Even Owen laughs at that one, shaking his head. He’s out here playing doctor in the early hours of the morning just to distract himself from the horrors in his mind. “But she’s asleep. And I’m hoping she sleeps through the night. Gwen’s with Rhys, delivered her myself. Jack’s…” He stops himself before realising that won’t help anything. “Jack’s on residual Tosh watch, just in case. Just got you to patch up now.”

Ianto studies him hard, as if he was holding something back. Owen’s not – for once. Eventually he simply nods.

“Good. That’s good. ‘S where he should be.” Ianto says, slurring heavily. Owen hasn’t got a clue what he means but he doesn’t ask. “My ribs.” The Welshman adds. Owen nods.

“I’m just going to take a look, okay?” Owen says. He moves to a crouch in front of the other, fingers working the other man’s shirt buttons quickly once consent is given. Owen pushes the material open and is greeted by an ocean of dark bruising. His face contorts uncomfortable at merely the sight.

“They might be broken. But I can’t give you painkillers until you’ve sobered up. Not that I’m sure you can feel it anyway, huh?” Owen says as he pulls back. He straightens up and takes a step to the side. Heading to the top of the bed, he finds what he assumes are Ianto’s pyjamas folded so neatly on the pillow.

“Feel rats, not pain— _ pain pain.”  _ Ianto says and it’s another sentence that’s making little sense. Owen still doesn’t challenge it.

“Gonna get you some water, you’re going to get out of those clothes. Honestly, you might want to bin them. It’s probably cleansing or some shit.” Owen suggests as he hands the comfies to the other man. “And then I’m going to sit here with you and you can ramble or talk about whatever you want. I can’t promise I’ve got particularly good advice and I’m a bit shit at  _ sympathy  _ but I can at least listen, yeah?”

Owen turns and heads for the kitchen. He spends a moment searching the cupboards until he finds where Ianto keeps his glassware and fills one first with ice, and then cold water. He’s about to turn and leave before the washing up bowl catches his eye. Owen can’t think of anything worse than potentially cleaning Ianto’s bed of vomit half way through the night so he grabs it too –  _ just in case. _

He re-enters the room in time to hear a cry drawn from the Welshman as he turns and sits back down on the bed. Apparently Ianto  _ can  _ feel the pain pain.

“Careful.” Owen chastises lightly as he hands Ianto the ice water and sets the bowl down by the side of the bed. He tries not to focus on how the pyjamas hang loosely from Ianto’s slight frame, noticeably thinner from the last time Owen had completed his routine medical.

“S’fine.” Ianto grumbles as he slowly moves into a seated position against the headboard. His knees draw up. “Nothing should be worse than the cybermen.”

Owen takes Ianto’s bloodied camping clothes and leaves the room for the final time. They go straight in the bin, they’re ruined anyway. That much blood doesn’t come out of a cotton shirt. One last pit stop in the bathroom, he grabs Ianto’s first aid kid.

When he comes back in, he catches the tail end of the Welshman’s sentence.

“Well,” Owen replies as he climbs on top of the bed. He sits cross-legged as he faces Ianto, the kit in his lap. “I wouldn’t say  _ nothing.  _ You never know when something will come round the corner and take the top spot of the worst day of your life.” He says, his eyes flashing with something that should be banter.

God, he’s not good at stuff like this.

“Thanks, that’s  _ very  _ reassuring.” Ianto says with a heavy sarcasm that knocks a man out even with the drunken slurring of his words.

“I warned you I wasn’t good at this!” Owen reminds, shaking his head. He busies himself as he reaches out and takes Ianto’s wrist, straightening the man’s arm. It’s given easily, luckily. “If you want nice… kindness and sweet words you go to  _ Gwen.  _ This is not my scene. But, unfortunately, you’ve got me.” Owen pauses, eyeing Ianto as he cleans out the worst of the wound. “But that’s not to say I’m going anywhere.”

The last sentiment is added quickly before Ianto can do something dumb like apologise. He briefly meets Ianto’s eye as he starts to bandage him up, but the gaze is quickly averted on both ends.

“At least the bodies, this time, weren’t the people I worked with. My friends, actually.” Ianto says, and Owen doesn’t quite believe that to be the most reassuring of facts. “Kieran, Moira, Gareth… there was nothing left…” Ianto begins to panic and with his arm within Owen’s grasp the medic feels how he tenses before he hears how his breathing quickens.

It’s not unlike Owen’s own attacks when anxiety creeps up on him a little too intensely. This isn’t  _ anxiety _ . Owen knows that. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to calm another down.

“Alright, Ianto… S’alright.” He assures. He thought the honey that slips into his voice would sound forced. He thought it would sound fake. But it doesn’t.

It sounds like Katie.

Owen gently takes Ianto’s fingers with his hand that isn’t currently holding a bandage in place and he squeezes them gently. Grounding. It’s a simple technique; works wonder for Owen himself if he could only bloody let go of his pride enough to  _ let  _ someone touch him like that.

“There was blood  _ everywhere,  _ always so much blood.” Ianto continues, seemingly not hearing him. Or ignores him. Owen isn’t sure. But suddenly the Welshman snaps out of it and he turns to the bowl Owen placed only minutes ago. Luckily nothing comes of it and Owen watches as Ianto focuses on taking deep breaths but yet doesn’t pull his fingers away.

“Maybe we should keep your mind  _ off  _ blood.” Owen suggests.

In honesty, that particular concept makes him uncomfortable too. Less than four months ago he’d been cleaning out the wreck of Torchwood One. Not once had it come across his mind that this was anything more than his average alien clean up. No one was alive, no one there had names. As horrific as it sounds it was the way you  _ had  _ to desensitise yourself to those things.

But Ianto knew them. And now Owen knows the bodies he picked his way over, that he searched and removed were real people.

Kieran, Moira and Gareth.

It’s no wonder the thought of it all makes Ianto sick. It’s enough to make Owen’s stomach roll as he thinks briefly of seeing his own team in that state – mutilated, destroyed… dead.

He pushes the image far from his mind when Ianto takes a deep breath that rattles so audibly as he sits up fully.

Owen watches as Ianto succumbs to a dizziness, the hand that’s not encompassed by Owen’s fingers pressing against a closed eye. The medic isn’t sure what he’s trying to achieve.

“Should sleep.” Ianto says, a groan accompanying the words as he removes his hand from his face. He looks exhausted and Owen’s glad he doesn’t have to fight the man on the concept of sleep but their hands are still joined. “Have to be up for work. Torchwood waits for no drunk. Life goes on.”

“You should sleep. But you’re  _ not  _ going to work like this.” Owen says with a raised eyebrow at the very sentiment. “Or to work the day  _ after  _ you’ve been like this.” He adds for good measure.

Of course, bloody Ianto Jones would think he could face off against cannibals, get wasted, attempt to take his own life and somehow rock up to work the next day. Owen’s eyes roll heavily at the idea.

He takes the moment to finish bandaging the wound he’d started, tightening it properly, tying off the white material in the correct finish and when he’s done he should release Ianto’s hand.

He should release Ianto’s hand…

_ He should release Ianto’s hand. _

It remains within Owen's own and instead he slowly settles it into his lap. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what in the world possessed him to show this amount of kindness to another human being past the point of being his doctor but it stays right there. Owen fears it may have something to do with the ‘more than a friend’ revelation he’d made earlier.

He ignores that.

“We’ll see how you are in the morning and as your doctor, I’ll decide if you’re fit for service.” Owen says in a tone that ensures he’s not looking for an argument in the manner. He watches Ianto consider it but his voice was undeniable; gentle but unrelenting. Had Ianto shown up at the Hub after being told to take a day, they both know Owen would physically drag him back to bed.

Instead Ianto simply squints at him. It  _ almost  _ makes Owen laugh.

“Deal.” Ianto says but he doesn’t move his hand away. Owen’s now staring at their fingers when he feels Ianto move. He expects fingers to be removed from his grasp now but as he looks up, Ianto is simply reaching to take the glass of water from the bedside table.

The glass of water is downed almost as quickly as it’s picked up and for a second there is a caution on the tip of Owen’s tongue but he swallows it down.

“If you…” Ianto starts and Owen blinks, but he changes course. “It’s late.” He says. Owen nods.

“It is.” He agrees and finally he realises Ianto’s hand gently.

Owen pushes himself up and slips off the bed, brushing himself down. He scans the room for tasks. Ianto’s in pyjamas, he’s covered that already. There’s a bowl by his side and water.. The water needs a refill.

He’s quick about it, grabbing the glass without a word and taking it to the bathroom to refill before putting it back on Ianto’s bedside.

“I’m gonna crash on your couch. If you don’t want to be alone or whatever, just wake me up.” Owen says, gesturing over his shoulder to Ianto’s living room.

That means something. Owen Harper does not enjoy waking up. He enjoys being  _ woken  _ up even less. And yet, he finds he means what he says to the younger man.

“Try and get some sleep, Ianto.”

“Goodnight, Owen.” Ianto responds and something lies within his voice that shows his gratitude for saying the night. It goes unspoken between them.

Owen nods and takes his due though he doesn’t go straight to bed.

He pauses in the bathroom, cleaning up the spilt meds by throwing them in the bin. The bottle of whiskey gets poured down the sink. The rest of the meds in Ianto’s cupboard get tossed too.

Eventually, once Owen is sure that nothing remains that could be potentially harmful, he crashes on the couch without even noting to look for a blanket. It’s been a long day in more ways than one and, after checking his phone for messages from the team, he’s out like a light.

Waking up sucks. It always sucks. Being ready for a morning of  _ moving  _ and  _ working _ . God, he doesn’t understand people that are morning people. Morning people should get burned at the stake. It’s unnatural. Go back to bed and get five more minutes of sleep while you still can.

To make matters worse, he also regrets how he’d slept last night. He had crumpled in what can only be described as a  _ heap  _ on Ianto’s sofa and had probably done his back in. Sure, he may only be twenty-eight but his back is as old as his patience - which is to say that of an elderly man that yells at the kids to get off his lawn.

Still, he heaves himself off the couch and towards what he hopes is steaming coffee that he can smell.

“Morning.” Ianto’s voice comes low with sleep as Owen wanders into the kitchen. The cup is offered to him and Owen takes it. Oh, thank god he was right. He holds the cup between his hands for a second and revels in the warmth it brings. Owen Harper can appreciate the little things in life too, thank you very much. “Figured you might need after…” His shoulders lift and he turns to grab his own coffee before meeting Owen’s gaze.

“Morning.” Owen says and honestly he’s quite grateful that Ianto’s doesn’t put a ‘good’ in front of it. No morning is a good morning. Not before he’s had his coffee at least and then it’s a tenuous assumption at best.

“Sorry I…” Ianto sighs, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have had to come.”

“Yeah, well, I did though. Couldn’t sit at home while you tried to off yourself with pain meds, could I?” Owen points out. “You won’t find any more by the way. Cleared them out. Not that I don’t trust you but...” He pulls an expression as he tosses the idea back and forth. “Well, I don’t trust you. You want pain meds? You come to me for them, and when I know you’re not gonna try  _ that  _ again I’ll let you go back to normal.”

He pauses, making sure to catch Ianto’s eye.

“And no, we don’t have to tell Jack or any of the others about what happened last night, nor that I’m hoarding your drugs if you want to.” Owen says, sipping his coffee. “Sound good?”

Ianto casts his gaze downwards to the coffee in his hands.

“Thank you.” He says, the nod given almost missed. A moment passes between them and an earnest expression settles on Ianto’s face. It’s the most at peace Owen has seen him in twenty-four hours. “Was planning on getting to the Hub early and making sure everyone has coffee and doughnuts waiting for them… well, everyone that is coming in today anyway.”

“What is it with people and going to work early?” Owen grumbles and eyes him critically.

“If you’ll clear me.” Ianto adds. “I’ve got my suit on. I’m ready.”

The medic thinks about who will be coming in. Jack, yes. Himself, obviously. Gwen had better not even try after having been shot. And Tosh? Well, that’s on her own decision since her injuries weren’t too severe. Owen gets the feeling that she’ll come in if only to be around people.

And while Owen is inclined to say  _ no  _ to clearing Ianto for the day, he suddenly finds he’ll worry about the man more if he was sitting alone in a flat with knives and his gun than if he was in the Hub where Owen could keep an eye on him.

He sighs.

“You’re cleared.” Owen says, meeting Ianto’s hopeful gaze. “I’ll give you some aspirin for the hangover headache I’m sure you have.” He teases. He smirks.

“A bit, yeah.” Ianto matches him. “Just something to stop the throbbing.” He says, with a laugh underlying the words.

“But, for the record, I’m not clearing you because you put a suit on… you know that’s not how medical clearance works right?” Owen states with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s not what…” Ianto trails off and Owen can’t quite follow the train of thought the other man seems to have. Instead he steps back and looks down at himself with a groan.

“Right, I’ve got to go back to mine and get dressed, else Jack’s gonna make some inappropriate comment about me turning up to work in my pyjamas.” Owen says with a sigh. Time to get his body moving.

“You can take that.” Ianto motions to the cup in Owen’s hand. “There’s still time before we’re expected suited and smiling.” He says, and Owen catches a slight bitterness.

The medic simply raises the coffee in gratitude and turns.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this... this took a long time didn't it? Whoops.. as always Ianto Jones is blipintiime and Owen Harper is cxptained!

“Ianto!” Owen cries out. 

The Saviour closes in on him.

“You’re a monster.” Ianto’s words are strained through gritted teeth, his gun held steadfast and raised as he looks from Mandy to The Saviour. “The whole world is broken and I’m… I’m the only one who can see it! Oh god.”

“Ianto.” This time it’s Mandy calling out, and not him. 

_“Shut up!”_ Ianto breaks, voice echoing through the basement. His feet stagger back, just a little. 

Owen hears it. Then he notices how The Saviour’s steps make no such noise. He glances down, his brows knitting with nerves as he watches how the alien in front of him walks. Its legs, just like his own, move one in front of the other. Large strides and a confident pace, but it’s feet don’t touch the earth that humans do. The Saviour glides, effortlessly, across the room and Owen’s back hits the wall before he recognises that he’s run out of space. 

“Shut up. I’m--” 

Owen wants to look as Ianto loses his words, but he’s too preoccupied as The Saviour reaches out to him. It’s skin glows. An ethereal, silvery glow that makes it look important. It makes it look God-like. A saviour by name and by nature. Owen understands how they got people to trust it; to enter a portal and disappear into the unknown. 

If you were desperate, truly desperate, and a being who shares qualities with an angel told you he could take you somewhere better, you would take it.

Ianto almost did. 

So many people, promised a better life, and thrown into Hell. 

A hand closes around Owen’s neck, and The Saviour smiles threateningly down at him. A sickeningly sweet smile, evil within itself. The hand that tightens around him doesn’t look solid. It looks like it should pass straight through his body; but it’s grip is unrelenting and cold. The glow crackles against his skin, like an electric energy that makes his throat close up.

Over the pounding of the blood in his ears, Owen hears a vibrating noise and he forces a look over The Saviour’s shoulder. Ianto is staring dead ahead, watching but unseeing with his gun outstretched before him. His eyes are glassed, clouded, and blind. He’s turned off to the situation, checked out of reality and Owen fears it's for good. Ianto brings himself semi-back to reality, only to pull his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen and his hand falls limply to his side. 

Is he done? Is he done with Torchwood? With life?

Owen brought him back from the brink once before, he could do it again. He swears it. But he can’t even reach him. He needs Ianto to pull himself out of it by himself. 

Please, just _save him_.

Suddenly pulled from the wall, Owen can’t look at Ianto any longer. His back is heading towards the open portal. 

“Get your hands off me!” Owen shouts, limbs thrashing wildly as he tries to pry fingertips from around his throat. His feet drag on the ground, digging into the gaps in the tiles with his heel. The Saviour simply lifts him higher, the hand around his throat strangling him even more than before. His legs kick and he makes contact with The Saviour’s shin but he does no more than hiss in pain. 

They reach the portal and the freezing cold touch of The Saviour’s energy and grasp contrasts with the searing heat that comes from the hazy portal to Hell. Owen changes defense tactics. He braces himself against either edge of the contraption until his knuckles are a blinding white; he doesn’t know how long he can hold on against his attackers' attempts to send him through. 

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to die. 

“Ianto?!” Owen cries out, one last time. It’s a desperate beg, torn and broken by the hand that chokes him. The seconds are drawn out painfully long as sweaty palms almost slip from the portal’s edge and he’s inched ever closer to his doom.

A gun cracks, the sound reverberating off the basement walls. 

There’s one horrifying moment where Owen worries that Ianto has truly lost his mind. He wonders if he shot himself in his spiral of defeating thoughts. He wonders if Ianto shot _him_ as a message to Torchwood that he was done. But a moment later The Saviour releases his grip.

He turns to see Ianto’s face, no longer empty and unavailable but determined and angry and rushing towards him. He pushes The Saviour from the medic, sending them sprawling in separate directions on the floor on the cold, tiled floor. Owen’s knees hit first but the echoes of pain that spiral through his bones are the least of his concern as he gasps for the air The Saviour had denied him. 

The Saviour itself, as ethereal as it is, can bleed it seems. And a puddle is collecting on the floor where it fell. Ianto shot it, not him, or himself. And it was a damn good shot in such close quarters.

Owen looks up, clutching at his own throat as he struggles to pull in the precious oxygen his body desires, and finds Ianto standing between him and danger, holding that gun up to Mandy. 

“Mandy, you have a choice,” Ianto says, though Owen regrettably hears very little from this moment on. The Saviour is on the move and he catches it out the corner of his eye.” You stay here and die, or you leave Cardiff now. You’ve done terrible things, almost got me sent to a slavers planet-- almost got _my friend_ \--” Oh friend? He hears that. It sends a wave of something into his stomach. “--sent to a slavers planet. But I’ve done terrible things too. It ends here. Someone out there needs you, the way I did. I know you actually cared, once.”

The Saviour scrambles forward, Owen tries to follow from behind Ianto’s legs but it’s closer to the portal. He gets halfway through before Owen grasps at his ankle. 

“Oh, I… I’m,” Mandy stammers. Ianto doesn’t let her finish.

“You’re sorry, I know. Now get out of here, and I ever see you in Cardiff again, I will kill you.”

The Saviour slips from Owen’s grasp - even wounded it’s stronger than the medic - and disappears completely. He sighs heavily and the air bubbles uncomfortably within his restricted airways. When he looks up, Mandy is gone and Ianto lowers his gun, resting it limply by his side. 

“Shut the portal off.” Owen croaks from the ground. “It’s gone through. Trap it.”

“Right.” Ianto murmurs, pocketing his gun in the inside of his jacket and making his way to the control panel. 

Owen uses the edge of the portal to haul himself back to his feet the best he can. He stands, bent double with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. Though not the most technologically savvy on the team, the portals controls don’t exactly need Tosh to work them out. With the big red button pressed, the hum of the portal disappears, the heat evaporates from the room, and for once there is complete silence within the basement. 

Well, except for Owen’s restricted breathing. 

“Didn’t think you were going to stop him for a minute there.” Owen admits as he fully straightens up, brushing dust and grime from the legs of his jeans . 

“Wasn’t sure myself.” Ianto responds, his jaw clenched with guilt as he looks at the other man. After a long pause, his shoulders slump. “You didn’t deserve that I’m sorry.”

Ianto holds his gaze for a second longer than perhaps should have been comfortable and yet Owen isn’t the first to look away. 

“It’s alright.” He says, which technically isn’t exactly true. It’s not really alright to leave your teammate to die. That sucks. But Owen had seen the way Ianto had looked at that portal. He’d seen the way he’d considered going through it just before he’d gotten there and proved it wasn’t an angelic heaven-like paradise in which to start anew. 

How can he be angry when he sees how much pain that man is in. 

Finally, the moment is broken when Ianto looks away from him and back to the console. He steps back and reaches back into his jacket pocket, removing the gun once again. 

A crack of a gunshot, and then another. There is a buzzing of ruined electrical equipment as two holes burn into the panel. 

“Sorted then.”

Owen stares down at the console as it fizzes into a bleak existence and ultimate death, watching it skid across the floor between them. 

“I figured we’d take it back to the Hub and archive it.” Owen says, unperturbed. “But that works too.”

He stoops to pick up the electronic device as it stops sparking and turns it over in his hands. This box had almost ruined his life. Perhaps, it’s best that it’s useless now.

“Where’s Mandy?” Owen asks, looking up again. He’d been so preoccupied with The Saviour that he’d missed the conversation going on above him.

“Gone.” Ianto says, placing the gun, once again, into its usual spot in his jacket. “Told her she could stay and die, or leave Cardiff for good.” His shoulders shrug slightly. “I didn’t want anyone else to get killed.” He finishes with, perhaps, a touch of guilt (or maybe defensiveness) lacing his tone. He looks to Owen and Owen stares back. 

Had that been the best choice? She had helped knowingly trade people into slavery. 

Owen lets a sigh. What does it matter now? She was gone. It was over, and miraculously Owen was alive. He steps forward, pressing the dead control panel into Ianto’s hand.

“Come on.” Owen says, heading for the door. “SUV’s outside. I’ll drive you home.” 

It’s practically an order, even though he doesn’t really have the standing to give them. But, after almost ending his existence, the least Ianto can do is follow him as he stagges, massaging his throat, out of the basement, the building and towards the car. 

Owen doesn’t check to see if Ianto is actually coming too, but there is no argument from behind him. Nothing but a sigh. 

He unlocks the car, throws open the door and sinks into the seat. Ianto places the, now useless, tech into the boot and in the rear view mirror, Owen watches his face while the man doesn’t know he can be seen. His eyes follow Ianto around the car and into the passenger seat. And while Ianto stares dead ahead out the windscreen, Owen keeps his gaze trained on the Welshman before him.

“I’m sorry Owen, I don’t know...” Ianto cuts himself off, teeth grazing his lips in thought before he continues to speak. “I’m _broken_ and I know--” He stops Owen as though he knows what he’s about to say, “I just have to deal with it. Ever since…”

Ianto is wrong, that’s not what Owen was going to say. He feels a pang of hurt that after so much kindness Owen has shown him, Ianto still thinks he would be cold in that way.

This man just almost killed him. Almost threw him to the wolves, to a slaver planet because he’d been too out of it to focus. Too wrapped up in his own worries and problems to save the life of his teammate. Owen should be angry, should have made him walk home, should have absolutely told him to _just deal with it_. But he doesn’t. Owen understands what it is to feel lost and whether it’s a good idea, or not, he wants to help. 

Ever since that night, when he’d pulled Ianto Jones from the pill-littered floor of his bathroom and held his hand and comforted him, he’s had this feeling in his chest that tells him he’s not allowed to give up on him. 

He doesn’t know what that feeling is, he hasn’t felt it in a long time. It feels foreign, but almost nostalgic. Like a feeling he felt once a lifetime away. A feeling that has instincts that he follows and the instinct is that Ianto will be okay, if Owen has anything to do with it. He has to be. Owen will make it so. 

“Ever since Lisa, I’ve just been in so much pain, everything _hurts_.” 

“Ianto, we’re all broken. Every single person on the planet is broken. We’re all just dealing with it.” He says carefully, all too aware he’s opened up to Ianto about his own past before. “Mate, what you feel with Lisa, it’s horrible. And it’s sickening and it feels like it won’t get better. But, take it from someone that’s been exactly where you are, it’ll get easier to survive without her.”

“I know it will, and it _has._ ” Ianto assures with a certain slowness to the way he speaks. He’s being honest with Owen, just like Owen is honest with him, that much is obvious. “Things felt… _better_ for a bit. Survived the cannibals and things felt like _maybe_ they were looking up. Things at work have been, _you know_.” 

Owen raises an eyebrow slightly. Tense is the right word. It’s difficult to even be in the same room as Jack and Ianto alone right now without feeling like you might choke on the air. 

“But, I finally had someone outside of Torchwood to talk to. I didn’t tell her anything _specific_ , but she listened.” Ianto sighs, looking down to his hands in his lap as he does so. “Then she turned out to be like everyone else.” He says, the anger Owen witnessed before creeping back into his voice. “And-- and it was like everything _immediately_ went back to the way it was before.”

Square one, Owen notes internally. The night of the cannibals. The night where Ianto Jones had almost taken his own life. He understands. Ianto is going through the motions Owen went through himself, and that’s good. But this was a major step back for him; not only in his mental state but also in his trust of humanity. Owen can’t help but wish Ianto had turned to _him_ instead of a stranger for help.

He does now. 

Ianto finally looks up and in Owen’s direction.

“How do you deal with being broken?”

“I,” Owen snorts. “I have sex and I drink.” He answers casually. Owen watches Ianto do his best not to roll his eyes. Maybe that’s why it’s not best that Ianto sought advice from him instead, either. Jesus, someone get this man an actual therapist. “Not in the alcoholic way, mind you.” He adds quickly. “Just enough to get that good buzz and someone pretty to sleep with in a bar.”

There’s a slight pause and Owen watches Ianto curiously. 

“Speaking of… how are you and Jack?” He asks, an eyebrow raising. “I mean, it’s been nice not worrying about whether the briefing room is sanitary or not but still--” He cuts himself off with a laugh as shock flickers across Ianto’s face. “Don’t look at me like that. We knew. Tosh came back to the Hub late to pick something up and she saw you and Jack going at it in his office. So. How is that, uh, going _now?”_

“It’s _not_ .” Ianto says, his hand idly fiddling with a switch on the door of the SUV. “Things are _complicated._ We talked, after the thing with the fairies, and decided to take some time to cool off. Strictly professional.”

There’s a silence that follows that Owen can describe is nothing less than incredibly awkward. He nods slowly, and almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up. He probably could have guessed that after bringing his cyber-girlfriend into the Hub, trying to kill himself and finding solace at the bottom of a pint glass and an alien-accomplice barmaid, that Jack and Ianto weren’t on the best of terms.

Else, he imagines, Ianto would be doing a lot better right now. 

Ianto looks past him now, towards the darkened pub and Owen follows his gaze. They stare at the empty establishment together, the customers having fled the moment they heard gunshots. There’s no police though, Owen assumes Tosh had something to do with that. 

“Doesn’t seem like drinking has done me any good though.” Ianto says, bringing the conversation back around to its significantly less awkward state two minutes ago. 

“No, possibly not.” Owen answers, shaking his head. “Could try sex.” He says, turning back to face Ianto with a smirk. He laughs shortly. “I’m free.”

Honestly, he doesn’t quite know why he said that. He’s joking, he’s sure he’s joking. And yet the suggestion sits. 

Owen watches as Ianto’s gaze drifts unconsciously downwards to his lips. Is Ianto actually considering this? Is _Owen_ actually considering this?

“Could be worth a try.” Ianto says, the smallest hint of a smirk to match his own finds his lips. It wobbles though, just like Owen’s. They’re both unsure of themselves and yet neither have claimed it to be a joke. 

“Sex _is_ known for its endorphins and… I have always felt better after hooking up with someone.” Is his voice getting higher or is it just him? “Especially someone pretty-- I mean, you’re not… well you _are_ \--...” Owen just swallows the next flurry of words that try to escape him because he’s pretty sure he’s digging a hole and he has no idea where it leads. 

“Well, if you say it works…” Ianto says, and the last thing Owen thinks is that isn’t sure if that’s what he was saying at all, honestly he can’t remember the words he said in the past two seconds as he thinks he may have dropped his brain somewhere in the footwell of the SUV. 

But these thoughts are silenced near instantly because Ianto closes the space between them and his hand finds the back of Owen’s head to draw him near as he searches out his lips with his own. It’s far more awkward than any time he’s gone home with someone in a bar. This is stiff with the uncertainty of not knowing if there will be a desire to continue. The alcohol usually subdues this moment of contact, and Owen usually holds a notoriously cool and collected demeanour when it comes to picking up women. And his voice _definitely_ doesn’t go up an octave when he suggests that they make out. 

This isn’t a woman in a bar though; this is Ianto Jones. 

This is the man he finds himself rolling his eyes at more times in one day than he can count; getting annoyed each time they come to blows over a piece of tech they have different ideas about; wanting to punch him when he takes the last chicken wing at dinner. They’re just too different to get along. Far too different to ever come to _this_. 

And yet, Ianto’s lips are on Owen’s. And he likes it.

Their stories and their inner working match so well they couldn’t see it. But after Lisa, it’s like someone has taken away the fog. How many times now had Owen seen Ianto had given him a reassuring smile along with the roll of the eyes. How many times now had Owen brought Ianto the last pieces of his dinner because he was worried he wasn’t eating enough nowadays. 

Ianto lets a slow exhale slip through his nose and they relax together. Owen sinks into the kiss far quicker than he could have expected. And now, with confirmation given that Owen is into it too, Ianto deepens their embrace.

Owen’s eyes draw closed, and he leans further across the gear stick, parting for breath, yes, but also to reach across and close his fingers around a fistful of Ianto’s shirt. He swallows hard and moves in to initiate a second kiss, desperation creeping into the way they both together. Now that Ianto’s started, Owen doesn’t want to stop.

It’s strange because it’s _Ianto_ but Ianto, now proven, kisses well and his lips are soft and he smells pretty nice too. The cologne he smells daily when he passes by the Welshman’s desk mixed with beer. Owen doesn’t mind that in the slightest and, as he dwells on these softer thoughts, he finds that the questioning ache inside him gets answered.

For weeks he hasn’t understood what this feeling deep in his chest for Ianto had been. Mistaken as simple, deep caring, because it’s been so long he couldn’t even entertain the idea of them being something more. But he knows now, and it’s terrifying.

They’re feelings of the romantic kind. Feelings he hasn’t had since Katie - oh shit. 

He doesn’t have much time to think about the implications of that idea, though because Ianto’s hand rests along the curve of his neck, tongue begging permission to explore him further. Owen gives it implicitly; opening his mouth to allow Ianto to enter. He’s finding he’s enjoying this, the taste of Ianto’s tongue is something he wants more of. 

Ianto attempts to manoeuvre the two of them closer - sex was their porogative after all, and sex does not stop at tongues - but Owen hits his knee on the centre console and the gear stick jabs Ianto in the stomach. 

“Back seat.” Ianto orders, voice low and gravelled and he climbs out of the SUV. 

For a moment, Owen is left motionless in the driver’s seat alone. He is reeling from the way such a growl of command turns him on. But the back door opens and Owen hurries from his seat to join the other man. 

Thank God for blacked out windows, Owen thinks. 

Ianto pulls Owen into him the second both doors are shut and Owen’s eyes widen as he feels a hardness that is not his own against his thigh. Ianto kisses him hard, dragging him closer still so that he’s nearly atop the welshman in one of the rear seats. He may be on top by position, but Owen can already tell that it won’t be his role in this particular endeavour.

He doesn’t mind. Ianto seems to know what he’s doing. Owen also knows what he’s doing but he’s not afraid to admit that his time spent with men in this particular scenario is very limited to the odd threesome here or there where a man simply happened to be present. This? Hot and heavy, fervour in the back seat? This is unchartered territory, and Owen thinks he’d quite like to take his next vacation here. So far, the sights and activities provided have been wonderful. 

Once again, Owen gives himself to the fervous of the kiss of the other man. One hand props himself up above Ianto on the seat, the other works its way quickly to the welshman’s hair. He finds himself whisked away in a wave of passion in the moment as he grasps at the dark strands. Cheekily, he uses it to force Ianto’s chin up and allow Owen access to his neck; pale and unmarked. 

Ianto’s lips part with a sharp inhale as Owen marks his throat. His hands wander down his body until they come to rest on Owen’s hips, fingers squeezing as he holds him firmly against him. It’s lucky that Owen is not a shirt tucked in kind of bloke, because Ianto’s hands slip beneath his clothing, thumbs teasing light at the skin hidden by the waistband of his jeans. Owen’s own breath catches then, parting from Ianto’s skin as he feels a spark through his spine. 

It’s an opportunity, taken by the other man, to steal his lips for himself once again. They’re learning so quickly of the way each other works, how they kiss, how they can fit together here in the backseat of the SUV. 

Their bodies move together, rocking against one another as their kisses only deepen and become more desperate for something more. Owen knows Ianto can feel how he wants him, he can’t hide it after all. Their kiss breaks, the two pulling back only to catch each other’s eye. Ianto’s fingers are at the waistband of his jeans as he looks up at him.

 _Is this still okay?_ Ianto asks it silently. Owen nods with a fierceness he doesn’t expect; breathless with a desire for Ianto to touch him in more places than his hands can currently reach. His body burns and Ianto’s fingers can be the antidote. 

Ianto pulls him back in and they return to their kiss; tongue pressing against tongue. He makes quick work of his jeans, Owen notices and his body drives forward once more against Ianto’s own. 

Seconds later, Ianto dips beneath the material and takes Owen into his grasp. He gasps, chest heaving against the other man’s, and the events of the day fade to nothing but a source of adrenaline for what’s about to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope our original readers are still here after the little break this fic took and that maybe we picked up some new ones on the way! Have a wonderful day <3


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